


Growing the Swarm

by teh_gelfling



Series: Bits and Bobs [3]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Bestiality, Breeding, Claiming, Crack, Exhibitionism, M/M, Mechpreg, PWP, Slash, Sounding, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Voyeurism, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 19:38:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3261914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teh_gelfling/pseuds/teh_gelfling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Aaaand... it's still going. I'm sorry, I can't seem to stop my brain. ;A; I don’t even know what’s going on any more… you’re probably better off not reading.</p><p>If you feel like it, leave a comment or critique. I love knowing what my readers like and don't like about my stories.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Growing the Swarm

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaand... it's still going. I'm sorry, I can't seem to stop my brain. ;A; I don’t even know what’s going on any more… you’re probably better off not reading.
> 
> If you feel like it, leave a comment or critique. I love knowing what my readers like and don't like about my stories.

 

Ratchet locked the office door behind him and staggered to his desk, array already exposed. He slumped into his chair, stiff spike waving eagerly over his pelvic span, begging for touch. He obliged it, stroking and squeezing his shaft as his other hand reached under it to the anterior node above his valve. He’d always enjoyed watching others frag. It got him off like nothing else. Seeing his partners in pleasure, watching their reactions and expressions… it was just something he loved. And then joining in after for another round of interfacing -- the kinkier the better -- that was just _it_.

But he'd never expected to see anything like _that_ ; honestly had never wanted to. The Swarm breeding was something that no sane mech wanted, let alone wanted to observe. This was Bob and Sunstreaker, though, and somehow it was different. Sunstreaker was beautiful, there was no denying that. Attractive, sensual without even trying, just downright sexy. If the mech had come to him in his heat cycle, Ratchet, being a medic, would have been obligated to help, but truly would have enjoyed it. Frag, if Sunstreaker had ever just wanted an interface, all he'd had to do was look at the medic invitingly. Ratchet would have gladly taken the frontliner any way he wanted: valve, spike, mouth -- his own or Ratchet’s -- it didn't matter.

And now he would never have him at all. Only his memories of the breeding session in his medibay. Sunstreaker's face each time he overloaded. The sharp scent of ozone and the tang of valve lubricant. The surprisingly gentle way Bob handled the golden mech.

That may be the best memory, actually. The bug truly seemed to care about Sunstreaker's pleasure. He had made sure to overload him several times before his own release, and wasn't that a thing of beauty. Sunstreaker's cries echoed through his brain even as the image of the Insecticon's overload played again and again.

A roar from the medibay interrupted what would have been a spectacular overload, and Ratchet was out of his office before he knew he was moving. At first he saw nothing, but his feet carried him to the berth Sunstreaker had been on. Bob was hunched over the golden mech, spike again buried in his chosen mate, clutching him close. Chirps and chirrs filled the air around them, happy and contented sounds from the Insecticon.

Ratchet dropped to his knees by Sunstreaker's helm. “Sunny?" Four golden optics focussed sharply on him and their owner gave a half purr, half growl of warning. "Shh, Bob, it's okay. He's yours, isn't he?”

“Mmn. Ratch? Why's your spike out?”

“Never mind. Just tell me you consented to that.”

“Of course. I _started_ it. He's my mate, Ratchet, and I'm his. He wants me, takes care of me, protects and provides. Who else would do that for _me_? And I'm carrying his sparklings.”

“I would have. Still would.” The words were quiet, an admission he should have voiced a long time ago.

Sunstreaker grimaced and looked away. “I'm his.”

“I know.”

Bob snuffed at Ratchet's spike. It was there, exposed, ready, and so small compared to the spikes of the Swarm that had rejected him. His tongue snaked out to wrap around the head, the narrow tip prodding the slit where thin transfluid beaded. The taste was light, similar to his mate's lubricant, but sharper. If he could get more, it might make a good snack. He was hungry, after all.

Ratchet yelped when that long, thin tongue began working its way up and down his spike. The tip continued to prod at his transfluid slit, lubricating itself and beginning to press inside.

Ratchet's vents stalled. It had been ages since the last time someone had sounded him. At least med school, if not before. He groaned and held as still as he was able. Bob's tongue inched into his transfluid channel and paused, the Insecticon looking up at him as if asking permission to continue. “Go on, Bob. Good boy,” he choked out.

Bob's tongue pulled out and unwrapped itself from his spike, then pushed back in, wiggling its way down the channel. It was the thickest thing he'd ever had in his spike, and it was certainly the most agile. The further it slid in, the higher Ratchet's arousal went. Pressure built behind his array, and in it as Bob pressed deeper within. That tongue in his spike would squirm every so often, which would make him squirm in turn and squirt a small bit of transfluid. It oozed out around Bob's tongue, drip down his shaft to pool at his valve, then drop into a puddle of fluid on the floor.

Bob humped his hips into Sunstreaker's, moving his spike in his mate and working him up to another overload even as he delved ever deeper into Ratchet's spike. Then there was a mouth on the medic's spike, and that combined with the tongue writhing inside his transfluid channel was more than Ratchet could bear. Overload crashed over him and transfluid bottled up in his spike, oozing slowly up the blocked passage. Bob gradually pulled his tongue back into his mouth, still wriggling it around, and Ratchet exploded. Thick, hot transfluid chased the appendage up the channel and burst into the Insecticon's mouth. Bob drank it all down, suckling at the spike and hoping to get just a few drops more. When no more was forthcoming, he pulled off Ratchet's spike and plunged his tongue into the valve below, knocking the medic to his back and moving himself and Sunstreaker closer.

Was this white mech who gave good scritches a potential mate as well? There was no scent of breeding cycle on him and only the remnants of rut. But arousal was still there, and Bob had already provided pleasure for his snack. Would the white mech be amenable to sharing pleasure? Or a breeding? Could Bob start his own Swarm? The thought excited him and his antennae twitched rapidly. Two mates and their offspring would be an excellent start. Their offspring would mate when they came into season. Maybe his mates would breed with each other as well? Or sire a clutch on him when his breeding cycle came upon him. If he clutched on and from both of them, their Swarm would grow so quickly...

Sunstreaker shuddered and moaned through another overload. His plating was gapped wide enough around his abdomen that Bob could put his primary hands into the spaces. Plenty of material for their clutch. He pulled gently out and patted at his mate's face and belly, then ran his tongue over the stretched out valve, cleaning it of excess transfluid and lubricant and encouraging his mate to cover himself.

He looked back at the white mech, only to find him sitting up again and watching them. His valve was still open and his legs were spread enough to get between them, but not enough to mount him. Bob sat to clean his spike, watching both his mate and his potential mate and curious if his mate would allow him to mount and breed the other. He wanted both, but if his mate didn't want the white one, he would acquiesce to his confirmed mate's will. He could still share pleasure even if he didn't breed him.

Spike clean and still jutting stiffly beneath him, he advanced on the potential mate, showing off all of his best attributes, including, of course, his spike. It was an impressive spike, even to Swarm standards, and especially to these odd back-foot walkers.

Sunstreaker barked out a laugh when he realised what Bob was doing. “He wants you, Ratchet. He wants you bad. He's trying to court you, impress you. Wants to put a litter of little half-Insecticons in you like he did me. You gonna let him? That would be so hot to watch, like you watched me earlier. You liked that, didn't you? I didn't know you were getting off on it, I'd have put on a better show. And that thing he did to your spike, stuck his tongue right down into it? I wanna see that again. Your face... mmn. I want to fuck you while he does that, right in your valve. You gonna let him claim you as mate?”

The medic watched Bob strut toward him, optics drawn to the large spike swaying beneath with each step. Sunstreaker's words weren't helping to dissuade him from this... really... terrible idea. At all. If anything, they were just winding him up all the more. And then Sunny said he wanted Ratchet's valve, and any capacity he had for rational thought fled. If fragging the bug would get the golden mech to frag him, Pit yes, he would do it. “Yes,” he choked out between heavy revs of his engine. “Please, _yes_.”

Bob pressed right between the spread legs, ducking his helm to lick briefly at the spike, then dropping his attention to the wet valve waiting for him. Little hands and his tongue wormed their way in together. His hands worked at the valve walls, and his tongue continued on to the cervical gate to test its receptivity. His potential mate wasn't in breeding cycle, but he could still clutch on him if the gate would open for his transfluid. If it didn't, he would get the pleasure of packing the mech's valve full, and the healer would likely enjoy it immensely himself.

The gate gave a little when he pressed on it, which was a good sign. Another was the way the mech wasn't fighting him at all. If the noises were anything to go by, he was greatly enjoying himself and Bob's attentions. Time to see if he was willing to go further.

Bob pulled away just enough to guide the white mech into mating position. Ratchet went easily, never baulking, even when the head of the Insecticon's spike was pressed into him, as wide as his own fist. He arched into the thrust, taking the spike with a wail. Bob was pleased. Even in breeding cycle, his first mate hadn't been so eager for that initial breeding. If he managed to clutch on this mate as well, even without breeding cycle it had the potential to be a large one, and they'd have a good-sized Swarm started.

A good solid thrust hilted him in his new mate, and his claiming cry echoed through the medibay once again. The white mech overloaded around him, hands scrabbling at the decking as he writhed on the thick spike splitting him open. Bob could feel the gate, and he ground against it, rubbing his spike in tiny circles over it, petting and stroking armour encouragingly. He pulled back and thrust again, rocking into red hips over and over until the mech was screaming out beneath him. It wasn't Bob's designation, but his golden mate's, and Bob chittered. This mate desired his other. Good. That was one hurdle he wouldn’t have to jump.

Sunstreaker moved around the rutting pair, optics bright and fixed on the medic's face. He knelt just in front of Ratchet and ran his fingertips over a cheek. The grey face turned into the touch and Sunny brushed his thumb over parted lips. Ratchet's tongue flicked out to lick the digit and attempt to guide it into his mouth. Sunstreaker chuckled. “You want something to suck on?” He pulled his hand away to dip his first two fingers in a cube of energon, then returned them to Ratchet's mouth. He moaned as they were sucked clean, a very talented tongue getting into every crevice to lap up every drop.

Well, there went his fans.

“Sunny...” Ratchet rasped as Bob continued to slide in and out of his valve, each thrust a little more difficult to complete as the bug's spike expanded and those plates on it spread outward. “Ah! Nng, Sunny please.”

“He feels so good, doesn't he? Fills you up before he ever overloads, and then when he does, it's amazing. You'll see. It just goes on and on forever and not long enough and you get so full. All of that transfluid in your tank... It's so good. And it just gets better after you're sparked up.”

Ratchet groaned through another overload, helm thunking down onto Sunstreaker's knee, as Bob's spike locked inside his valve. He could feel the pulse of the member still expanding, stretching him wide and plugging him utterly. He half hoped his gate would remain shut through the Insecticon's overload, just so he could feel all of that transfluid flood back out of him when Bob finally left off his valve. It left him hotter and more eager than before, and he groped blindly for Sunstreaker's interface cover. Being stuffed in his valve was hot as the Smelter, but getting filled from both ends? Ohyesplease.

He didn't have much time, either, if the way Bob was grinding against him was any indication. “Sunny, please. Want your spike.” It would be embarrassing the way his voice wavered and crackled, if he could possibly dredge up enough self-awareness to be embarrassed.

Sunstreaker released the panel and shifted so Ratchet could access him easier. A blaze of heat worked it's way down his shaft as the medic took it into his mouth, teeth scraping lightly and tongue sliding over ridges and whorls on the metal skin. Ratchet moaned around him, sliding further down. The golden warrior could feel the tightness of intake tubing around the head of his spike, lightly squeezing as the medic swallowed him.

Bob watched his new mate pleasure his first from his limited vantage point. He was still building to his overload, spike practically vibrating in the white mech's valve since he couldn't move in him any more. The gate was still closed, but he almost couldn't care; it felt too good. He could breed the white mech another time if it didn’t take this session, since it looked like his golden mate had accepted the new addition to their swarm.

The little gasps and moans Sunstreaker emitted were the sweetest music in Ratchet’s audials. Bob chittered and grunted with each movement, keening each time the medic’s valve contracted around him. Any noises Ratchet made were muffled by the spike in his throat, but were no less pleasured for it. He’d forgotten how much he enjoyed this. Caught between two spikes, both on the brink of overload, his own bearing down on him and promising oblivion for a short time.

This had to be the kinkiest interface session he'd had in his entire life. And that was including that time with those aliens from Gelara.

The memory of that time blended seamlessly with the fullness in his valve and sent him spiralling toward overload. He ground back against Bob, swivelling his hips for just that much more sensation, even as he purred around Sunstreaker's spike and swallowed it further. His nose was pressed up against the warrior-frame's plating, the head of the spike fully in his intake now. He worked the tubing of his throat, laving his tongue over the shaft in his mouth, doing everything he could to coax the overload from the mech he'd only dreamt of having.

Sunstreaker was close. So close. Bob seemed to be as well, if the squinted optics and tense frame were any indication. It wouldn't take much to push him into overload. One more moan around him would probably do it. And yes, there Ratchet went. And Sunstreaker couldn't hold back any longer.

The first spurts of transfluid jetted straight down the medic's throat. He pulled back enough that the head was in his mouth again, wanting to taste the mech. Each successive blast on his tongue was savoured. With each jerk of the spike in his mouth, his overload crested until he was screaming out in bliss. The last of Sunstreaker's overload took him in the face.

Then Bob twitched in him, once, twice, and primary hands slammed Ratchet's aft to his pelvic plating as he unloaded his transfluid directly into the clenching valve.

 


End file.
